The old chair | The Art of Poetry | Page 1

It remembers the smells
Years of souls being shed in it’s presence
From home to house
From county to state
The crushed orange velvet
Drinking in each memory
Each stain
Until it landed on that curb
Teetering on the edge of oblivion
Screaming infinitely louder than I ever could
Wanting desperately to keep listening
To peoples stories and living vicariously through them
Cigarette ash and other unmentionables
Dusts the color and dulls its intense inner flame
Reminiscent of poppies in full bloom
Falling asleep like Dorthy looking for home
Longing for a new basement, den, or garage
To extend its scattered existence
Longing for a new generation to appreciate
The mystery of that old chair
Its origins long since forgotten
But here it sits. Perfectly useful.
But no one needs its.
The tear on the arm seems like too much work
It’s been thrice retired, this time maybe for good
Free is a very good price
But every glory eventually fades
Some stains last forever
And it appears we all go alone
Placed out at night
Hoping for us to be gone by sunrise
A relic of a different time
It will stay forever in the minds of
Those that passed it on down the line
No matter where it ends up it has already
Transcended time to reach today
It will always be so much more
Then just the old chair.

#The old chair